War of Tongues
by Richonne
Summary: What if the zombies hadn't interrupted Beth and Daryl that night at the funeral home?


_What the fuck was I thinking?_

Daryl Dixon verbally kicked himself as he worked the pump that brought cold, but fresh, water into the mortuary. He'd already washed most of the grime out of his clothes and now it was time to wash the grime from his body. He concentrated on the task at hand, trying to forget the turmoil that churned in the pit of his belly. He'd just confessed to an eighteen-year-old girl that he had feelings for her. He'd never forget the horrified look in her eyes when she'd realized what he'd been saying to her.

She'd seen it in his eyes and she hadn't reciprocated.

Wasn't that his luck? Wasn't that the way it had always been? Every time he'd fallen hard for a girl she wasn't interested. He'd tried to return the feelings he'd seen in Carol's eyes but it just hadn't been there. She was a good woman. She was a damn good woman and she'd loved him, but nothing had happened between them because he couldn't get there. He couldn't make the love he felt for Carol grow from platonic to romantic. He'd tried. He'd tried damn hard but it wasn't there.

He scrubbed soap through his hair and rinsed, asking himself why he'd fallen for Beth. She was too young for him. He really doubted Hershel would have approved. He doubted Maggie would approve. He doubted anyone who knew how he felt about the girl would approve.

Despite knowing this, Daryl couldn't quite care what others thought. She'd done what no one else had ever done: she made him not only believe in himself, but she'd made him _like_ himself.

There was a chest of drawers in the single bedroom on the second floor. He found a pair of clean boxers that fit him. He planned to put them on and then have Beth take the room upstairs while he kept watch on the first floor. The casket was harder than it looked but it had a pillow and he'd slept on, and in, worse. He just wanted to get the job of telling her to take the bedroom over and then get downstairs. It would be hard to face her, but maybe she'd be willing to pretend like he hadn't confessed the fact he'd fallen in love with her through those expressive eyes of his.

A pair of small, warm hands came to rest on his hips, blocking his ability to pull the boxers all the way up. Beth's warm breath caressed his naked back as she lay her chin against him. He could feel her naked body flush against his back. She was warm and soft and smelled of soap. He looked into the mirror to their right. Their eyes met just as Beth's hands circled around to his belly where she rubbed his stomach softly.

_Don't…don't…don't…_ he willed himself. _Stop this and think…_

"You make me a better person," she said. "I'm stronger with you."

"Beth…"

"Did I misunderstand you downstairs?" she asked.

Daryl didn't trust his voice. He shook his head and Beth smiled.

"You're pretty easy to fall for. I just didn't think you'd ever see me the way I see you."

Daryl's breath caught as he hardened. He let go of the boxers, allowing them to drop to the floor. His erection ached, sweetly, as Beth took his heavy length into her soft palm. She stroked him, gently, until her breath began to quicken.

"Daryl…" she breathed.

Unable to wait another second, Daryl turned and tangled his hand in her damp hair and pulled her head back. He brushed his lips against hers, uncertain how to handle her. She wasn't some trailer trash slut like most of the women he'd bedded in his life. She was good. She was pure and she wanted him.

She took the initiative by plunging her tongue into his mouth. He opened up and sank his tongue deep inside where they began a playful war of tongues that tasted of peanut butter and jelly. Her small hand found him again. He put his hands, calloused from years of hard work, crossbow training, and walker killing, to her shoulders and gently urged her back.

"You ever been with a man?"

"I was with Zach. Does it bother you he was the first?"

Daryl shook his head. "No. I just don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. You'd never hurt me, Daryl Dixon."

Her trust in him was almost as much a turn on as her lips, or her warm, soft hand on his throbbing cock. He eased her back toward the bed, eager to kiss every inch of her. He wanted…_needed_…to taste Beth. She lay back on the bed, naked, her eyes clouded with lust but her face open and trusting.

Her breath quickened when his tongue flicked out to tease one hardened nipple then another. She stroked his shoulders when he slowly lowered and trailed kisses down the soft skin of her belly. Daryl vowed to slow down next time, but for now he had to take what he needed. He slipped his tongue deep into her wet curls, became drunk with the heady scent and taste of her womanhood mixed with the flowery scent of soap. He suckled the hard nub of her clit, making her moan and her hips buck against him.

She whispered his name almost reverently. He was certain she wasn't aware she was doing it, and it pleased him to know that he was the only thing on her mind. Right now, for her, for him, there was no such thing as walkers, death by being torn apart by rotten teeth wasn't a concern. Starvation and thirst meant nothing. There was only him, only her, and the pleasure they could give one another.

"Please…please…I need you…Daryl, I need you…"

She was begging. He didn't want her to beg for anything. At least not for long.

He ached for her. Every inch of his body ached for her. He rose up. His eyes met Beth's as he found her slick entrance and slid into her. She moaned as she took in every inch of him. He moaned with her, sinking in balls deep until he touched bottom. He wrapped her creamy soft thighs around his waist and began to move. He tried to be slow and gentle but Beth would have none of it. She growled and nipped, almost painfully, at his shoulder as she brought her hips up to meet his.

"Fuck me," she whispered. A filthy word from a pure mouth made him buck forward.

"Anything you want," he said, and thrust deep, hard, fast—hard enough to push her head toward the headboard. He tried to back off but Beth surprised him by flipping him over. She kissed him deeply, adjusted her hips to take him back into her, and then began to piston her hips hard and fast. He took in the sight of her small breasts bouncing happily as she rode him. He pumped his hips beneath her, his body sweating, his heart thundering.

Beth cried out and raked her fingers down his chest, a little pain to counter the pleasure she brought him, as she came and clenched him deep inside. Her release was intense, so intense he felt a lump of emotion form in his throat. She refused to stop riding him. She stared into his eyes, strands of long hair sticking to her shoulders, her eyes bright, so that she looked ethereal, like a figment from a dream, a product of his imagination. She rode him hard, fast, wet and slick, until he emptied himself into her with a hard cry.

She took her wet warmth from him to lie beside him. He held her as they caught their breath and came down. She kept one long, slender leg wrapped over his, and kissed his cheek softly.

"I'd stay here with you, forever, if you wanted. Or I'd follow you into the hell outside."

Daryl stroked her arm. "I know you would."

"Just don't ever ask me to leave you."

He knew that nothing good lasted in the hell the world had become, but he would enjoy this as long as he could. He would see to it that they both knew some kind of happiness, together, before they met their end.

"Never," he promised, and then slipped into the best sleep he'd ever known in his life.


End file.
